When Night Falls
by Libek
Summary: Twilight Princess. In spite of the pairing listing, this is mostly interaction between Link and Ilia. The hero's come home, but the heroine isn't there with him.


As a farmer, Link had always appreciated the value of the dawn. Dawn meant that the roosters would crow, the day would begin, work could start. Dawn meant that you could see your hand in front of your face without the aid of a torch. It meant having _both_ hands free to plow a field, to gather crops, to tend animals. Dawn was what a farmer waited for, a friend in arms.

And dusk was an enemy. Dusk stole away the day's light, sent the farmer back into his home, lighting torches and preparing for supper: for nightfall and bed. Dusk -- and the _twilight_ that followed it -- had always been something to dread.

Link didn't dread the dusk any longer, and he had long stopped waiting breathlessly for dawn. He knew that night and day were only two sides of the same coin now. The warmth of sunlight suited him no better than the chill of shadow. And he wasn't a farmer anymore.

"Link..." Ilia's voice was soft, low, and he turned to find her standing at the edge of his clearing. (The clearing where he had freed his first spirit, the clearing where his world had first turned inside-out.) "I made dinner."

Ilia was the only one who had never asked him if he was all right, not once since they had both returned here. While the other villagers plied him with questions, or gave him odd looks for spending so much of his time out here, where there was no one but Epona for company, Ilia pretended not to notice.

But there was a sadness now in her eyes whenever she looked at him. It made Link feel guilty, and then frustrated because he didn't know how to make that sadness go away. He didn't know how to make himself feel more comfortable in her village or around the people they had both grown up with.

He didn't know how to fit back into the space he had left behind, now that he had changed so much.

But Ilia had made dinner for him. All she wanted was for him to eat it. Link could do that much.

As they walked back to the village together, Ilia tried more than once to make conversation with him. She talked about what Epona had been eating lately and how that cat, the one he had rescued (Link didn't even remember), was lost again. All the while she kept glancing at him, as if she wanted to be sure he was still there beside her. Eventually, she gave up and let silence fall between them.

*

They were halfway through the meal -- it probably tasted good; she had always been a good cook -- when Ilia set her fork down heavily and he looked up to find her staring down at her food solemnly.

"My mother says I should give up on you," she said to no one. "I don't think she's the only one who feels that way. And I know why they're saying it, too."

Link opened his mouth, but she wasn't done speaking.

"Is this how it felt... when I forgot all about you?"

He closed his mouth again. It was hard to imagine that she might be right -- when he had finally found her again, only to see that complete lack of recognition in her eyes, Link had thought nothing else would ever hurt him as badly. He didn't want to think of her sharing that pain.

And he hadn't forgotten her: he still remembered everything. He remembered the first time he had seen her, how pretty she had been even as a little girl, remembered her bright eyes and how excited he had felt whenever she turned them on him. Her giggle. He remembered the other villagers elbowing him and grinning, telling him that she was going to make someone a fine wife someday.

He remembered all of it. But in a way, Ilia was right.

She was still pretty, but like the dawn, Link had stopped thinking "pretty" was all that important. Her eyes were still bright, but they glowed softly. They weren't yellow lanterns burning in the night. Her giggle didn't chime like dark merry bells. And whenever she was around him, what light she had went out. He made her tired: worn.

Slowly Link pushed back his chair, and she glanced up, for a moment hopeful, but something in his face made her duck her head again.

"I thought neither of us were ever going to survive," Ilia murmured. "I thought I would never see you again. Coming home -- settling down -- it isn't easy for me, either, you know. No one here has seen the things we have."

She paused to let him protest, but Link only shook his head silently. To his surprise, she forced a small smile for him. "But there's a difference between us still," she continued. "I wasn't sure at first -- no, I was: I just didn't want to believe it." She lowered her eyes. "I still want to belong here, Link. I want to spend the rest of my life in this village -- I want to get married and have children and grandchildren! I want to tend the animals and fish and farm. So I can still be happy here."

Ilia stood up abruptly, and Link took a step back, involuntarily. His nerves were still raw, his hand still ready to reach for the sword he couldn't wear in the village. Ilia came towards him anyway, and in the candlelight he saw the sadness in her eyes again. It had finally come to the surface, and she was crying.

"But that's me, Link," she said. "You don't want to be here any more, do you? You don't want to farm or fish. You don't want to -- to get married or have children. You won't ever be happy if you stay."

Her hand covered his: warm but rough from work, and nothing like the dark emphereal skin in his dreams.

"So don't stay."

Link looked up at her sharply, startled. What? Had she really just said that? But where could he go?

Ilia smiled, weak but sure. "You know where you want to go," she told him softly. "So go. Don't let me catch you..." Her voice hitched, she closed her eyes and kept going. "Don't let me catch you still here in the morning."

And she gave him a hard push towards the door.

*

Night was falling and the village was quiet, everyone inside. Huddling around their candles, finishing their own suppers, getting ready for bed. Unlike them, Link realized, the coming darkness made him feel more alive.

She was right, wasn't she? He was never going to be happy here again. He wasn't even really sure he had been happy here to begin with. Looking back, it seemed more like he had been asleep.

He hadn't even had to waste much time packing. For months now he had been carrying everything he needed or wanted on his back, only the sword and shield left waiting just beside his door in an untidy heap. As if he had been waiting, all this time, for an excuse to leave.

Link blew softly on the shell she had given him, summoning Epona, and then left it behind on her doorstep. He loved his horse, but if he found what he was looking for, she wouldn't be able to come with him. He had a feeling that Ilia would know how long to wait before calling Epona back home.

Probably Ilia thought he would go to the castle and find the princess there -- probably she thought it was her finery and elegance that he missed in their small village. For a moment Link wished he could have explained it to her. He didn't like the idea of her thinking he had left her behind for someone rich and powerful and perfectly beautiful. But he didn't have the right words, and besides: he wasn't sure she would believe him.

Who in his right mind would give up his home and everything he had ever known to follow someone who had caused him so much pain and tried so hard to make ever finding her again impossible?

Link _was_ going to the castle, and he _would_ be looking for Princess Zelda. But only because he thought she might know something about doing the impossible.


End file.
